


Signs of Life

by nowwhateinstein



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e13 Irresistible, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 11:22:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6751936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowwhateinstein/pseuds/nowwhateinstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-episode for "Irresistible," with reference to events in "Ascension" and "One Breath." Mulder POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Signs of Life

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated!
> 
> Disclaimer: The X-Files and all related characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Studios. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

“It’s all right.” He says the words softly, as if to himself, but they’re meant for his partner, whose quaking frame he holds in his arms. “It’s all right,” he whispers again, this time with slightly more emphasis than before. He can feel her lean into him. He responds by squeezing her even more tightly and gently stroking her hair.

“It’s all right.” Now, it’s a mantra to ward off the darkness that threatens to consume both of them. It seems to seems to be working; Donnie Pfaster is being hauled out of the house in handcuffs, accompanied by eight Twin Cities cops. 

“It’s all right.” This time, he says it to reassure himself that he still has her. He almost lost her just a few months ago; to have it happen twice leaves him shaken, afraid of what the future holds for them. For now, though, he’s here, holding her, and that’s enough. 

The paramedics arrive, and she permits them to go over her. They dab at the scrape on her chin with antiseptic and butterfly-stitch a cut above her eye. She sits silently through their ministrations, her eyes staring blankly down at the asphalt below the back of the ambulance. He watches her with concern, wishing for them to be done. After what seems like an eternity, they finish. He sweeps in before Bocks and his detail can play Twenty Questions with her. Plenty of time for that later.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispers. He leads her to the car, his arm around her shoulders. She sits beside him silently for the entire ride back to the hotel. 

“I’ll see if they still have your room reservation,” he offers as they pull up to the entrance.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” 

Under other circumstances, he’d make a suggestive joke in response to such a statement from her, but not tonight. Not after what’s happened. He merely nods.

Thankfully, his room has two queen beds. He enters first and swiftly moves his suitcase from the spare bed and puts hers in its place; he’d gotten Scully’s bag from Bocks, whose men had retrieved it from her now-totaled rental car. 

He turns around to look at her. She’s standing in the doorway, the thousand-yard stare still lingering in her eyes. She’s wearing his coat. He gave it to her to after the paramedics removed her own torn and bloodied one at the scene. It hangs on her small frame like a poncho, reaching down to cover even her feet. For a moment, Special Agent Dana Scully, M.D., is reduced to a small, frightened child, and it terrifies him.

He wants to hold her again, to tell her over and over that she’s OK - that they’re OK. He’s desperate to will her back to the strong, stubborn friend and partner he’s come to know. To trust. To depend on - more than he's ready to admit to her, or to himself. 

Stop it, he tells himself, shoving his fear down yet again. She needs care, not coddling. If she’s to come back from this, it won’t be from pitiful looks and handling her like a delicate doll. Help restore some of her dignity, he thinks.

The first step, he determines, still looking at her: she needs to get herself clean. Her hair is filthy and tangled; dirt covers her face and several of her fingernails are chipped. 

“I’ll run a bath for you.” She winces at his offer, and he immediately curses himself for forgetting. Pfaster and his morbid baths. So much for being helpful.

“A shower is fine,” she says quietly, sparing them both further embarrassment. 

He goes into the bathroom and turns on the water, waiting until it’s steaming before turning on the shower head. This is a fancy enough establishment for them to provide guest bathrobes; he comes out holding one. 

“I, uh, I’ll be down in the lobby, making a few calls,” he says, handing her the robe. No need to make this more awkward than it already is. Let her have some privacy. He does need to check in with Bocks. He needs to hear that Donnie Pfaster is under every lock and key the Twin Cities Police Department owns.

She nods, then heads into the bathroom with the robe and her toiletry kit.

He returns forty-five minutes later to find her dressed in blue silk pajamas and lying on the extra bed. Her hair is still wet from the shower. She glances up. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Tired.” She does look exhausted; her eyes are red-rimmed. But it’s at least it’s an improvement over the shell-shocked gaze she had before. Her attention is now on the pizza box he holds in his hands.

“I figured you might be hungry,” he explains. He’d called in the order and had it delivered to the front desk while he was downstairs. “Pepperoni, mushrooms, and green peppers.” He opens it to show her.

“My favorite,” she says. 

At last, signs of life. He can’t help but smile in relief, and is rewarded by the slightest upturning of her lips.

He sets the pizza down beside her on the bed, then goes to pour her a glass of water. She takes it from him with both hands and thirstily gulps it down. She then tucks into the pizza with an appetite that surprises him. Another good sign.

He moves to sit beside her, perching on the edge of the bed, careful not to transgress any physical boundaries; she doesn’t seem to mind his proximity. He helps himself to a slice and together, they make short work of the pizza. 

An uncomfortable silence descends after they finish eating. He offers to turn on the TV, but she shakes her head, preferring instead to gaze at the empty water glass in her hands. 

“Bocks said that judging by the state they brought Pfaster in, you put up quite a fight,” he says, breaking the silence. It’s true - his phone call to Bocks revealed that Pfaster had a sprained wrist, a broken nose, and chemical burns to both eyes. “Remind me to never get in scrape with you.” It’s a lame joke, but it does get her attention; she chances a glance at him, then quickly looks away. 

“I didn’t… I didn’t want to tell you how much this case affected me,” she says, still looking down at her glass. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to protect me. Now...” her voice trails off. 

He can see fresh tears forming in her eyes. As much as it pains him to see her so raw, so vulnerable, he’s touched by her trust to confide in him her fears. You’re braver than me, Scully, he thinks.

“Now, it’s over,” he says, finishing her sentence. He takes her hand in his. “You’re here, now - we’re here, together - and that’s all that matters.” He says it as much for his sake as for hers. 

She must sense the conviction behind his words, because she raises her eyes to meet his gaze. The tears are still there, but so is something else - something he worried she’d lost: her strength. And in her eyes, his own fears dissolve. He feels her hand squeeze his in silent assent.

“Try to get some sleep.” 

She nods tiredly and closes her eyes. With his free hand, he takes the glass from her and sets it on the nightstand, then turns off the light. 

He remains sitting on the edge of her bed, holding her hand, until she falls asleep.


End file.
